two worlds colliding
by birdbox
Summary: '...and I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you'-A series of Hook x Emma AU meet-cutes
1. cause i'm not sleeping

This is the first in what's going to be a series of AU meetings between Killian and Emma (I found a list of 16 I want to do so god-willing, there will be sixteen altogether!)

I'll be writing them when I'm bored and not busy but I've got exams coming up so don't expect too many until after 17th June.

* * *

**1. called the wrong number while drunk!au**

Whoever this woman is, she really does not like Neal. Not that he knows precisely who 'Neal' is either, but since he's been on the receiving end of a twenty-minute-long-and-showing-no-signs-of-abating rant about much of a 'useless, good-for-nothing, manipulative prick' he is, Killian's almost adopting a dislike of the guy too.

"And another thing, _fucking _Neal! You left me- as in, you. Fucking. Left me, you asshole! Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Killian had given up any serious attempt to persuade the woman she's got the wrong number about ten minutes ago, partly because she's so blind drunk right now that she hasn't been listening to his protestations and partly because it seems like she really needs to have this rant, even if it's not directed at the person she thinks it is. Sufficiently distracted from writing his article about the history of piracy, he leans back in his chair and plays along, commenting when she pauses for breath.

"Um... not Neal?" he offers, amused, but again she pays no attention.

"Just because Tamara dumped you -good on her, by the way, she deserves better- you suddenly want me back?! Does not work like that, buddy!"

"Tamara dumped me?" Killian says, feigning shock. "Bloody hell, I am not having the best of days am I?"

"N-no, you're not!" the woman confirms, slurring. "And I'm glad!"

Killian takes a look at the clock in the corner of his computer screen: 3 AM. She's going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning; he feels a spike of guilt for keeping this going for so long. He should have put the phone down a while ago really.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep, love," Killian suggests kindly. "You can call and rant at me again when you've got a clear head, if you want."

Strangely, he isn't entirely joking. It's been...interesting talking to -or more accurately being screamed at by- the unnamed woman, if nothing else.

"I am- pretty tired, I guess," she acquiesces, suddenly calmer. "But I'm not doing this because you suggested it—I'm doing it because I want to, because you don't get to tell me what to do, douchebag!"

Killian huffs out a laugh through his nose. "I would never presume such a thing."

"Good. Oh, and just so you know, you're not nearly as good in bed as you think you are—try googling 'location of the clitoris'; you might learn something!" she says angrily then the line disconnects.

Killian spends a long time staring in shock at his phone after that, before snorting with laughter. He's still chuckling to himself when he shuts off his computer about five minutes later, article saved but ultimately neglected. The next day, he's almost forgotten about his late night, extended phone call to the woman until his eyes fall on the phone next to his computer and he smirks to himself, wondering how the woman is faring after her... eventful night. He realises she probably doesn't remember, given her inebriation. A one-off amusing encounter consigned to history, he decides.

His phone rings just after 3PM, he's working on his article and the strange woman is almost completely out of his mind so he thinks it's probably his editor Regina. "Jones," he answers, using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he types.

"You're... not Neal," the woman says stiltedly and Killian almost drops his phone in surprise, but he recovers himself quickly.

"I am not," he agrees with a smile she can't see. "I did try to tell you a few times, but you seemed very determined to say your piece."

"Oh, god." She groans. "I just woke up with my phone in my hand and I remember wanting to give Neal a piece of my mind but according to my call history, you and I had a twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds long conversation at three AM. And I didn't call Neal at all."

"On the bright side, what you said was utterly devastating. I have no doubt the guy you dislike so much would have been quaking in his boots... had he been the one to hear it." Somehow Killian can't resist teasing this stranger.

"I am so, so sorry!" she says, muffled like she was covering her face with her hand. "My ex was giving me jip and it just so happened to be on the same day as my friend convincing me it was a good idea to get really, really drunk. The two things coinciding led to that delightful phone call that I'm very sorry a poor, unfortunate stranger had to be on the receiving end of."

"Don't worry about it," Killian assures her. "It was very... amusing. Anyone ever told you you're a very persuasive drunk? I don't know this bloke, Neal, but after last night, I'm utterly convinced he's the worst person on earth."

The woman laughs and Killian finds he rather likes the sound. "Yeah, well. He's just a-"

"- 'Useless, good-for-nothing, manipulative prick'?" Killian suggests innocently.

"God, I said that to you?"

"Oh, yeah," Killian says cheerily. "That was one of the nicer things you said."

"I am really sorry, Mr Jones. I feel like a complete idiot. If it makes you feel better after my torrent of abuse, I'm suffering the headache of the century right now."

He'd forgotten he'd told her his surname when he'd answered the phone. "I feel like we should be on first name terms by now. I'm Killian."

There's a pause. "Emma. Emma Swan."


	2. honey is for bees, silly bear

**2. daycare!au**

It isn't that Emma doesn't love her job, but loving her job doesn't mean she can't be grateful for the peace and quiet at the end of the day after running around after a small herd of lovable but rambunctious children. She, David and Mary Margaret have a routine of clearing up after the kids, then having a coffee together but today Mary Margaret and David are in a bit of a rush because they're going to visit Mary Margaret's parents in Maine for the weekend, but they insist on staying to help get the place in order.

Eventually, Emma finally convinces them she can handle the rest of the work on her own and gets them to the entrance of the daycare, which is no small feat, she practically has to pry their fingertips loose from the doorway- Emma at least admires their devotion to this place that they've made their life's work. She's known them both for years, and even though she only started working for them a few months ago, she's very aware of how much they've given up for Once Upon a Time daycare.

"Hey," David says, stopping outside the doors. "Is that-Meredith?"

Emma and Mary Margaret both follow David's pointed finger to the corner of the playground where a small figure sits in the sandbox, silhouetted by the afternoon sun.

"Oh, gosh, her dad must not have turned up," Mary Margaret says. "That's... strange actually. He's usually pretty good at keeping to home time, and we haven't had a call from him to say he's running late..." She turns to David. "We should wait till he turns up."

"I'll wait, you two go" Emma volunteers. "You've got a long trip ahead of you."

"Haven't you got to pick up Henry?" David asks.

Emma shakes her head. "He's gone to Avery's for his dinner tonight. Won't be back till later-" she sees their reluctant faces "-Seriously, it's fine. I'll wait with her for a while then try to contact her dad with the details in the file."

Mary Margaret smiles gratefully. "Emma, you're a life saver."

"I know. Now go, have fun!" Emma shoos them towards their car insistently.

"Oh, I'm in for the weekend of my life," David tells her, opening the car door for his pregnant wife. "My in-laws are just _wild_!"

"For your sake, I'm choosing to ignore the note of sarcasm in your tone, dear husband," Mary Margaret says primly, even though she's smiling. David rolls his eyes at Emma and gets in the other side.

Emma can see them still sniping away at each other affectionately as they wave at her and drive away. She looks after them wistfully for a moment, a little jealous of the easy intimacy that came from a relationship of years of absolute trust and love. She loves the life she has with Henry, of course, but there are times when she feels like she'd like a person her own age to come home to. Still, until she finds a serious relationship that doesn't end in her supposed 'soulmate' making off at the sight of an unexpected positive pregnancy test only never to be seen again, it seems as though it'll be just her and Henry for some time.

Emma walks over to the sandbox, where Meredith Jones is sitting peacefully patting down a castle-shaped bucket with 's vaguely aware of Meredith's home situation even from the short time she's been working here, unfortunately only because it's really tragic. Mother dead in a terrible accident when Meredith was just weeks old, now brought up by a single father who works in a recording studio in the city. And honestly, Meredith is a very sweet little girl- slightly more reserved and cautious than some of the other children but as soon as she got talking she'd talk your ear off about everything and anything. She, Mary Margaret, and David all enjoy Meredith's chattering away to them at breaktimes.

"Hey, Meredith," Emma says when she gets close, kneeling down next to sandbox. "What's up?"

"Daddy hasn't come for me yet," Meredith says, bashing the top of the bucket with her spade before carefully lifting it to reveal an almost perfect sandcastle. "I always wait in the sandbox till he gets me but he's not here."

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Emma says soothingly. She takes a discreet glance at her watch, twenty past four. "Shall we wait for him inside and get a drink? It's warm out here today."

Meredith considers this for a moment then nods sagely. "Okay."

Standing up, Emma holds out her hand to Meredith who takes it and steps out of the sandbox, careful not to harm her sand kingdom. Hand in hand, they walk back to the building. "Next time, sweetie, if your Daddy doesn't get here for a long time, come inside and tell one of us, okay? It's very important we know where you are."

"Yes, Emma." Meredith has a very deliberate way of pronouncing people's names so it comes out like 'Em-ma'.

Once inside, Emma helps Meredith wash her hands, before getting her a carton of juice and getting out the paper and coloured pencils and crayons. Emma draws a large buttercup on her sheet and takes her time colouring it in so Meredith isn't made to feel uncomfortable or like she's being watched. "Is that a pirate ship, Meredith?" Emma asks after a while, indicating Meredith's colourful drawing. An out-of-proportion bearded man with a eyepatch and a too-large hook stands on the scribbled brown ship.

Meredith nods eagerly, grinning.

"It's amazing," Emma enthuses and Meredith preens, proud of herself.

"I'm gonna be a pirate when I grow up!" Meredith asserts with such absolute certainty that Emma can't help but smile.

"Really?! That's a very cool job—I wish I could be a pirate!"

"Daddy tells me pirate stories every night before bedtime," Meredith tells her, clearing wanting Emma to be jealous. "And he does _all _the voices! My favourite is Captain Hook cos'- cos' he's the scariest pirate on the seven seas!" As though to emphasise her point, her small index finger forms a hook and she bares her teeth wickedly.

Seeing Meredith so animated and enthusiastic is the exact reason Emma does this job. "Well, If you're going to be a pirate you need a pirate's name- have you thought of one?" Emma asks.

"Red-handed Jill, of course!" a new voice says behind them and Meredith spins in her seat gleefully.

"Like Wendy Darling!" Meredith and her father crow in unison, and it's obviously a long practised in-joke between them. Emma laughs and turns around herself to get her first look of the guy.

There's one thing Emma can say for sure: attractive is a _gross_ understatement. Shocking forget-me-not blue eyes (the exact same as Meredith's) set in a pale face with the perfect amount of stubble covering his chin and cut glass jawline. A thick shock of dark hair covers his scalp, and there's a light sheen of sweat beading on his face, like he's been running. He's wearing a slightly rumpled three piece suit with the tie loosened around his neck like something off the cover of GQ magazine.

Meredith launches herself into her dad's arms and he lifts and spins her effortlessly before gathering her to his chest and mussing her cheek with his nose.

"Hey there, little tyke!" he says in a lilting English accent, sounding for all the world like the sight of her is the best thing to happen to him all day. Emma can relate to that feeling. "Really sorry I'm late-" he glances at Emma and does a rather flattering double take. Emma tries to hide a smile. "I, err, I got held up at work and of course, my phone chooses the most inconvenient time to die on me."

"S'okay, Daddy," Meredith tells him, leaning her head of glossy dark curls on his shoulder. "You can get me ice cream to make up."

Her dad gives her a comically disparaging look which makes Meredith giggle, then looks back at Emma. "Demanding little madam, isn't she?" He shifts Meredith onto one arm then holds out his hand for Emma to shake. "I'm sorry I don't believe we've been introduced: I'm Killian Jones."

Emma shakes his hand and she tries to tell herself she imagines him lingering a second too long, and the feel of his fingertips skating across her palm on the release. "Emma Swan. I only started working here, like, two months ago, so I haven't really had the chance to meet many parents yet," she explains, shrugging.

"Well, Emma." Emma can't remember the last time her name sounded so good on someone's lips. "I'm sorry to have been a pain and made you wait around for so long."

Emma waves it off. "Don't worry about it, it's my job. And believe me- I really do know what it's like juggling work and childcare."

He looks surprised. "You have children?"

"A son, Henry. He's twelve."

"Pre-teen," Killian notes. "How's that going?"

"You know toddler tantrums?" He nods. "Savour them. I'm telling you, you'll be longing for them in ten years time. Henry gave me the silent treatment for three days straight last week because I told him he had to save up his allowance or wait till his birthday to get the video game he wants. Only started talking again when I waved a takeaway pizza menu under his nose!"

Killian laughs. "Duly noted."

Emma bites her lip to keep from smiling and they stand like that for a few seconds, an unmistakeable look of mutual interest passing between them. Emma feels the spark that she hasn't felt in a long time, and never this quickly, and it makes her toes curl in anticipation of what might be to come. Just maybe. "I should get this one home and let you get on," he says finally, letting Meredith play with his long fingers. His eyes flick back up, fixing on hers and he looks oddly nervous. "I- er, I hope we get to see more of each other."

"I'll make sure we do," Emma promises, holding his gaze.


	3. i'm just a shot away from you

**3. role reversal!au**

Killian comes around to a throbbing pain in the back of his head and the sound of someone clucking their tongue at him. "Gods, if you could only see how pitiful you look right now."

He groans, feeling around the wooden deck of the ship for his sword but coming up with nothing because, of course, whichever of these scourges bested him made sure he was rendered weapon-less too. He supposes they'd be remiss and not-very-competent pirates if they didn't, even if it's deeply inconvenient for him. The question in his mind about where it went is answered when he drags his eyes open: pointed straight in his face. The sunlight reflects off it and its glare momentarily blinds him until he can focus his eyes around it. The woman on the other end of it is almost as dazzling, blonde hair blowing across her shoulders and under her chin. Once he recognises who she is he feels slightly better about his current predicament- any sailor in any tavern across the land would understand being bested by Captain Swan. Those in the know scarcely classed it as a dishonour because of the sheer inevitability of it.

Killian sighs. It was, believe it or not, supposed to be a the event-free return from a routine diplomacy visit to David and Snow White's principality to congratulate them on their upcoming nuptials. That is, until one of his sailors spotted the flag of the Jolly Roger in the distance like the bad omen it was. If he survived this run in with Captain Swan, Liam would no doubt finish the job for her for being so careless as to let Swan's crew get close enough to overrun them. He's effectively a dead man walking (or... lying, given his current position) whatever happened.

"What do you want, Swan?" His voice comes out like a rasp and he tries to clear his throat discreetly—he's powerless enough as it is without having to sound it too.

She smiles falsely, leaning forward so the sword is that bit closer to his throat. "I'm always glad to hear my reputation precedes me, but that's 'Captain' to you. And the same thing that we pirates always want: gold, jewels, money, your finest wares- but don't let that fool you that you have a choice in giving them to me. My crew are emptying your cabin as we speak."

"If you've harmed a hair on my crew's heads, Swan," He uses the name because he now knows it bothers her. It's about the only advantage he has over her right now. "It'll be your neck on the block, I swear it."

"Cool it, buddy. And lose the tone. They're tied up below deck for now, not a hair out of place-" she snaps her fingers in sudden remembrance. "Oh wait! tell a lie! I did have to kill one of them. But really... I did you a favour."

"How?" he spits.

"You may have heard that pirates have codes, and I apply my own quite stringently," she says. "A man who attempts to force himself on a woman to gain an advantage is better off at the bottom of the sea."

His anger dissipates at that. He wonders briefly who the bastard was, but quickly decides he doesn't care.

"Captain?" a voice says behind him says. He inclines his head back to see who it is but swiftly regrets it after a stabbing pain shoots through his neck and head. "What are we to do with the crew?"

Captain Swan looks down at him, cocking her head and smirking softly at him. Despite himself, he feels a sort of heady rush go through him as she studies him with an almost predatory air. He'd heard stories of Captain Swan on his travels, but none of them quite prepared him for just how... entrancing she is. "Good question, Belle. Haven't decided myself yet. Set adrift maybe? Toss Mister Nobility here overboard and make him swim for land... if he can that is."

"You need me alive!" he tells her, sitting up slowly. His own sword follows him, pointed right at his face. The shadow of the other woman, Belle, engulfs him and another sword touches the side of his neck from behind. No escape.

"Why?" Captain Swan barks out.

He grins, feeling the first glimmers of gaining the upper hand since this whole sorry debacle began. "Normally, I'm loathe to use this line on a woman, gives off the wrong impression, but... _don't you know who I am_?"

"A particularly sorry example of an ignominious ruling elite who squeeze taxes out of the masses in return for a few blessed hand waves at royal events?" Killian resists the urge to roll his eyes; of course Captain Swan would be an anti-monarchist.

"Captain, before you decide what to do, you might want to know, he's not just any noble," Belle says, and he mentally thanks her for the stay of execution. Killian winks at Captain Swan, acting braver than he feels. "He's the brother of... _King Liam_ himself."

His brother happens to be the Commander of the finest naval fleet in all the realms, one that could easily locate and overwhelm even the fearsome Captain Swan at the drop of a hat if Liam caught wind that his brother had been killed aboard her ship. Various royal authorities were in constant pursuit of the Captain on piracy charges, but murder and treason would put her far out of her depth. And judging by the look on her face, Captain Swan knows this all too well. She studies him, her jaw clenching and unclenching in thought. He holds her gaze unflinchingly. "Prince Killian, I presume," Captain Swan says, deeply unamused.

"An pleasure to meet you, my lady," he says, feeling secure enough to stand up and mockingly give her a low bow. "Now you know my name, might I have the honour of knowing yours?"

"Over my dead body," Captain Swan says.


	4. moonlight serenade

**4. noir!au**

Emma has been doing her job long enough to sense a disturbance in the atmosphere—especially on her own turf. Something feels off from the minute she walks in the building full of solitary matchbox offices stacked one against the other that she calls home. Her hand hovers absently over the holster on the waist of her skirt, disguised by her suit jacket. She knows better than to ignore her instincts.

Her little rented office is on the fifth floor, the glass pane display the words 'E. SWAN-PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS' in a fancy script. It was late enough that the click of her heels was the only sound, other than— Glen Miller_…_?

Emma has a record player in her office but the last she checked, it was broken, gathering dust in the corner for when she got around to having a look at it (which was never.) She quickens her pace and sees her door is ajar. Moonlight Serenade is indeed filtering out into the corridor. A man sits behind her desk, elbow on leaning on one of her files with a gun pointed at the door. Emma whips her own out and points it at him, unlatching the safety. Nobody threatens her, least of all in her own office. He grins pleasantly, a row of straight pearly white teeth glinting off the lights of the city outside.

"Ms Swan, I presume?"

Her hand tightens on the gun instinctively. "Who wants to know?"

"Killian Jones. Though some people prefer my more colourful moniker—Hook."

"What do you want?"

"I have a proposition for you," he says amiably.

Emma swallows, trying not to make it obvious. "Well, Mister Jones, I tend to react better to this sort of thing when someone isn't pointing a gun at me. What's say you drop it and _then _I listen to what you have to say."_If not I'll be willing to bet I'm a faster shot, _Emma adds in her head.

Jones seems to have forgotten about the revolver he holds. "Oh, this?" He shows her the barrel. "It's unloaded, see?"

Emma gives him a half annoyed, half suspicious look and holsters her own gun again. He doesn't show any sign of moving from her chair so she leans against the window instead, refusing to subordinate to this stranger. She can hear the muffled sounds of teeming life in the city below them, intermittent horns and police sirens blaring then tailing off as they pass into the distance. The city that never sleeps indeed.

"Well?" Emma prompts after Jones watches her in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. "What do you want?"

Jones laughs lightly. "I was told not to expect pleasantries from you, Ms Swan, and you certainly do not disappoint."

Emma bristles, folding her arms tightly. "Let's see: you somehow break into my locked office late at night, fix my record player for reasons known only to yourself, point an unloaded gun at me and now you want small talk? Forgive me if I'm not forthcoming on that front, but I happen to want you out of my office as soon as possible and asking if you caught Giants' game is hardly going to be conducive to that now is it, Mister Jones?"

"Touché," Jones says, smiling. Emma gets the strangest feeling the whole 'breaking in' shebang was him setting her some kind of test that he'd just decided she passed. She shifts uncomfortably—she doesn't perform for anyone unless she chooses to. His face grows serious, bright forget-me-not blue eyes intent on her. "I need you to help me find someone."

Emma considers this. "You got a missing person?"

"No," he replies carefully. "More like… a score to settle."

Emma shakes her head—she's heard that one before. "I don't do gang rivalry cases. It's a rule of mine. I'm not getting myself into shit I'd rather avoid for anyone's money."

"This is a personal score, Ms Swan. While I can't deny the man I want to find is a shady figure, it has nothing to do with gangs I promise you."

"It better not," Emma warns. She kicked herself briefly for making it sound like she'd already decided to take on his case. Rookie mistake. "Who is he?"

Jones picked up a toy ball Emma kept on her desk for boredom in between cases and passed it between his hands. "You may know of him, he's known as the Crocodile to most but he has many aliases, Mr Gold and Rumplestiltskin among them."

Emma does know of him in a vague sense. Knows he's a nasty piece of work and that he has his fingers in a lot of pies around town and probably beyond for that matter. There are probably a lot of people who want misfortune to befall the Crocodile. "What kind of score are we talking here, Mister Jones?" she asks.

Jones doesn't answer for a long time but his face says it all: _heartbreak. _Emma doesn't know this man from Adam but he looks so lost and lonely in that second her heart goes out to him. She knows what it feels like. "The Crocodile… took something more precious than you can imagine from me, Ms Swan. Let's leave it at that."

Emma guesses the Crocodile killed someone this Killian Jones loved, it's not hard to glean from the look in his eyes and his words. "Okay, well… why do you need my help? Why don't you do it yourself?"

Jones' face brightens again, his lips turning up. "I've been reliably informed you are the best in the business. And this requires a certain degree of, let's say, _delicacy. _If the Crocodile even suspects he's being hunted, I imagine I may turn up in concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson and that is not happening before I get my revenge I assure you. I need a professional."

"That right?" Emma says, leaning back.

She hadn't missed the part where he more or less told her he's willing to die for his vengeance quest. These were not idle threats of revenge. He meant it. She can't say she really advocates his misguided, self-destructive quest—and she knows such types well enough to know he won't be convinced out of it by words from a stranger— but she at least admires his passion and conviction.

"Indeed." He grins. It occurs belatedly to Emma that he's shockingly good-looking, all dark hair and blue eyes and cut-glass jawline. Jones stands and saunters over to the window, poking his fingers through the blinds and pushing the slats apart to look out. The orange lights cast shadows on the angles of his defined cheekbones. Emma watches him carefully. "Given the risk and sheer amount of time that will be involved, I can pay you handsomely for your part. You won't be left out of pocket. I won't ask for any of it back if we do not succeed- the moment it's in your hand, it's yours."

"Time?" Emma questions.

"Ah, yes, that's the other thing." He turns to her and looks her in the eyes. Emma takes an automatic tiny step back. "As you may have heard, the Crocodile is a slippery son of a bitch. He has footholds and places to hide the world over. I'm expecting this to take… a very long time, Ms Swan."

Emma remains silent.

He continues talking, but collects his coat and hat from her desk, ostensibly about to leave. "I'm talking years here, and it's important you understand that before you decide to help—or not, as the case may be. I'll leave my telephone number and wait a week; if I don't hear from you, I'll assume you do not wish to take the case and you'll never hear from me again."

Jones turns when his hand is resting on the door handle to smile at her. "It was nice meeting you, Ms Swan."

"Wait." He turns, an eyebrow arched. "How did you get in here anyway?" Emma asks.

Jones chuckles and reaches in his pocket for a small metal hook. "I'm rather handy with a lock pick." He points at the hook. "Where my moniker came from."

Emma smiles too. "Hook. It suits you. It sounds… dastardly."An idea pops into her head. _I must be crazy, _she thinks as he considers her words with a smirk. "You got a job, Hook?"

"Er, no. Not at present."

Emma nods. "Right then, if I'm taking on the Crocodile then you're working for me now. Not just on your case either but other cases too—you can file and lock pick and such like when I need you to." Hook raises his eyebrows, surprised but not opposed to the idea.

This, Emma thinks, has been an odd night, even by her standards.


	5. did you want me crawlin' back to you?

**Warning: **this one probably borders on an M-rating so if you'd rather not read that, feel free to skip and wait for the next AU

* * *

**5. exes who just can't stay away from each other!au**

Killian rolls off her onto the other side of her bed, sweaty and sated. Jesus Christ, that was.. _something else_. Emma's heavy breathing and soft sighs tell him she feels the same way (she had looked positively sinful when he looked up from between her thighs, back arched and legs shaking through her release). Killian blows a long raspberry and runs a hand through his already-mussed hair; a byproduct of Emma's wandering hands during sex. Believe it or not, he had only come around to pick up the absolute final box of stuff left over from when he moved out six months ago. Even when he left his flat this morning, his room mate Robin had told him he shouldn't still being having sex with his ex in that responsible friend way of his and Killian had nodded, thinking-in hindsight rather optimistically-,_'Hey, it's a new day, and__this time... I will get through a meeting with Emma without ending up in bed with her'._

Emma had answered the door in a short, silky nightie and nothing else.

Now, here they were, delightfully boneless and pleasantly sore from a morning of horizontal tangoing. He slides the condom off and ties it, launching it into her bedroom bin and giving himself a moment of mental celebration when it goes in first time.

"Remind me," Emma breathes beside him. "Why do we keep doing this?" "Because... sex is the only part of being in a relationship that either of us are any good at?" he suggests, looking over the pillow he's burrowed into to look at mulls it over, then nods, accepting his explanation as to why they're exes while apparently not ex-lovers. "Yeah, that sounds about right." She lightly hits his shoulder with the back of her hand, grinning. "We are really good at sex though.""Can't argue with you there, Swan."

He meets her eyes and they snort with breathless laughter, stoked by post-coital bliss. There are a lot of reasons their actual relationship didn't work out -Killian would admit, if held at gunpoint, that maybe they just didn't try hard enough- but the quality of the sex was never one of them. He'd never tell her, but before they met, he'd never known sex could be as good as it was with her. Like so many other things with Emma Swan, it was easy and effortless and actually really exhilarating every time. Not that he'd ever tell her because despite their 'encounters'- they aren't together. He doesn't get to say things like that to her any more

With that thought, he lifts himself out of the soft sheets and begins the search for his clothes. His boxers go on first, abandoned by the bed; his jeans and belt pooled by the door of her bedroom -he remembers her pushing him up against the door and sticking her hand down his pants to palm him. That ridiculous turn on aside, his shirt is another kettle of fish. "Er, Swan, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" He holds up his shirt for her inspection, buttons literally ripped off almost down to the naval, most scattered over the floor. Ridiculously, he hadn't even realised what she was doing before, as occupied as he was with sealing his lips to her skin.

"Oops... you knowI'm stronger than I look," Emma says from the bed, sounding completely unapologetic at her utter decimation of his shirt. "Anyway, what's the problem? You'd look no different than you usually do, the way you button your shirts."

He gives her a look. Emma relents, pointing at her wardrobe. "I think there's an old shirt of yours in the top drawer if you want it."

There is as it turns out. A soft, faded Slash T-shirt his brother bought him from a concert a few years ago that he was sure he'd lost. He should really be mad that Emma's kept hold of it without telling him, but mainly he's just glad to see it again and that it's not gone forever as he'd resigned himself to believing. "Do you ever wear this, Emma?" he asks gesturing to the shirt, a puckish grin forming over his face.

Emma's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"It's okay if you do, you know," Killian assures her mockingly, sauntering toward the bed. "I'd absolutely understand."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Emma says quickly, folding her arms across the sheet.

"Do you wear it to sleep? Is that it?" he prods playfully. Emma scowls at him, shaking her head. "Do you wear it and pretend it's me holding you?"

He'd said it to tease her, but as soon as the words leave his mouth the air between crackles with tension. Emma's mouth falls open a little and she blushes pink, but unfortunately Killian has no way of knowing if he's just gotten uncomfortably close to the truth or whether she's just reacting to him toeing the line of talking about their feelings (the last time they did that, it ended in Killian packing a suitcase and the door of their apartment clicking shutbehind him). He feels like he should use the opportunity, ask her what they're doing here and actually want a serious answer for once.

Emma breaks the fragile moment, looking away. "Don't flatter yourself, Killian." It sounds like she's trying to get back to joking again, but her heart isn't in it.

Killian throws the T-shirt over his head and shoves his arms through the sleeves. Once his shoes and socks are on, he leans across the bed to kiss her again -another routine of their 'encounters'- and feels her sigh into it. Honestly, he could quite easily stay here, get undressed and get into bed with her again. Despite everything, he misses waking up with her curled around him. There's a lot he misses about being with Emma, if he's honest with himself.

"Until next time, Swan," he murmurs, pressing a few more kisses to her lips.

"There won't be a next time," Emma mutters back. Both of them know but don't vocalise the fact that that's exactly what she said last time.

Killian tries to tell himself he's imagining the scent of her perfume on his T-shirt as he lets himself out of the apartment they used to share.


	6. i read the stories in your eyes

**6. extras on a movie set!au**

"Can you go and sit over there please?" a harried-looking production assistant directs Emma to a cafe table with a sharp point. "The actors will be doing a walk-by scene shortly."

Emma nods. There's another extra sitting there already, who will presumably be her scene-mate for however long this thing takes. He's spinning a coin on the table, the light of the sun catching on it. Emma sits down opposite him and he looks up. He's shockingly good looking-in Emma's opinion, better looking than the lead actor on the film especially when he smiles like he is right now.

He stops fiddling with the coin and leans towards her, resting his stubble-covered chin on his hands. "So..." he says. "What's our story?"

Not exactly what Emma was expecting. She's done a lot of these things and the usual topic of conversation is about who's going to be on set that day and whether they'll be nice enough to allow bathroom breaks. "Excuse me?"

"What are our motivations?" he elaborates with flourish of his hands. He sounds British, so it's puzzling how he ended up being an extra on a movie set in New York of all places. "How exactly did we end up here, about to be in the background of the smash hit romantic comedy Once Upon a Time leads while they have a playful, flirtatious tête-à-tête about life?"

"Why don't you go and ask the director? I'm sure he'll be thrilled to answer character motivation questions from an non-speaking extra." Emma raises an eyebrow at him.

The man laughs and shakes his head. "Come on, we might be sitting here a while while they set this scene up-there are worse ways to pass the time."

This is all true. The actors haven't even got to set yet as far as she knows and who knows how long that'll take, and Emma knows from experience that that won't be the end of the delays before they start shooting.

It's a good thing Emma's a patient person because there's an awful lot of waiting around that comes with extras work-sometimes at night and in ridiculous cold but the money is worth it. Three hundred bucks a day and more didn't come from many other jobs aside from stripping (which Emma tried once but didn't take to it-kudos to those who did though). Far from being a budding actress planning her Oscar acceptance speech like some extras were, this is primarily a money gig to pay off student loans. Much better than the twelve bucks an hour she got for baby-sitting and once she even got to shake Tom Hanks' hand as part of a scene.

"All right then," Emma concedes, tapping her lips in thought. "How about... you're my good-for-nothing ex boyfriend who cheated on me and is currently grovelling for a second chance?"

He claps a hand over his heart in mock offence. "Oh, that's harsh! I wouldn't cheat!"

"Wouldn't you?"

"No!" The man retorts, as though hurt by the accusation. Then he shrugs, giving her a smouldering look that Emma is pretty sure is illegal in all fifty states and US territories. Apparently not in Britain though. "A man would be a fool to cheat if you were his girlfriend, love... I'm no fool."

Emma's mouth falls open a little because Jesus, this sex god of a background actor is actually flirting with her. A flush works its way up her cheeks. "You don't know me," she says softly, holding his piercing eyes.

"Yes, I do!" The teasing tone is back and the sudden change in tone leaves Emma scramble to catch up with the man's thought process. It's strangely enjoyable though. "Because we're international spy partners about to embark on a major operation to bring down a corrupt politician whilst navigating a love-hate relationship with each other and the frisson of sexual chemistry that imbues our every interaction."

Emma snorts loudly, drawing the eyes of the PAs milling around and some of the other extras. "That's an impressive mental leap-from an ex-boyfriend and girlfriend to international spies."

"I know. Good, aren't I?" He smirks. "There's more where that came from."

"I bet there is. Why don't we play characters slightly more down-to-earth? This could be the fractious meeting in a cafe between a brother and a sister after the tragic and mysterious death of their father."

The man blows a raspberry, shaking his head. "That'd never work. They'd never cast us as brother and sister."

"And why's that?"

"Firstly, we look nothing alike. Secondly, you're way too attracted to me. It'd come off weird and incestuous on screen."

Emma lets out a few shocked gasps of laughter. "Oh my god, you're full of it!"

The man grins. "It's okay, you know. It happens. When you're this devillishly handsome, you kind of get used to it."

"You're obnoxious, you know that?"

"Only for you, darling."

This conversation is far more familiar than it really ought to be for a guy she doesn't even know the name of and met less than five minutes ago. Emma leans back in the chair, trying to suppress her grin. She wonders if he's being honest, or if he really is like this with everyone but either way he's fast becoming one of the most intriguing people she's met in a while.

"Okay, I've got one," Emma tells him, leaning forward again and copying his stance- chin on hand. The table isn't all that wide so this action means they're very close together.

His eyes dance, cocking his head. "I'm listening."

"You're a cocky playboy half-assing his way through a business degree being sustained by your trust fund and oil baron daddy's handouts"

The man frowns. "It seems like you're heaping scorn on me right now, love. I hope this gets better."

"It does, now shut up-I'm on a roll here," Emma snaps playfully and he holds up his hands, gesturing for her to go on. "I'm a down-on-her-luck barmaid trying to support myself and pay for my degree which -surprise, surprise- is from the same college at you're at. Then, one evening-"

"-I walk into the bar you're working at," the man continues for her and Emma grins. "Having just had my arse handed to me by my professor who wants to know why I keep missing deadlines for essays and I look up... and I see you. You're instantly attracted to me, and we have hot sex against the bar's bathroom tiles-"

Emma cuts in over him. "You think I'm way out of your league and you would be right. But I'm sufficiently charmed by your sad puppy eyes"-the man sticks his bottom lip out on cue and Emma gives him a thumbs up- "that I give you a drink. On the house, of course."

"Cue a few chance meetings in the halls of the university we both attend a drunken kiss at party leading to a peppy relationship montage set to a upbeat indie song, until -serious original movie score track- I realise that for the first time in my life, I'm falling in love with the beautiful, snarky and smart blonde-haired goddess."

Emma looks down in an attempt to hide her mirth at the sort-of real compliment. "But you're afraid of commitment and when I lose my job and have to think about dropping out of college, you think it's fine to interfere in my life and start paying my fees for me without telling me, which, along with various other misunderstandings and arguments leads to-" Emma gestures around her "-the break up scene. We're both deeply in love with each other and maybe we could make it work if we just had the guts to say the words out loud but we don't, and I leave in tears."

The man is gripped apparently, his forget-me-not blue eyes locked with hers. "And then?" he murmurs.

Emma's eyes flick down to his lips involuntarily and they move infinitesimally closer. Swallowing loudly, Emma leans back and breaks the intense moment. "Haven't got to that part yet."

She shrugs and smiles. The man leans back too, folding his arms. "We should go and pitch this to the director. It's a hit movie waiting to be made."

"It really is," Emma agrees.

"I can see our names up in lights already: written by and starring Killian Jones and..."

"Emma Swan."

The man -Killian- grins and holds his hand out for her to shake. "Killian Jones and Emma Swan. If you don't mind me saying, we make quite the team."

She takes his hand. "That we do."


End file.
